Summer Rain
by pratz
Summary: The rain creates silence, and silence creates distance. Wolfram, on Yuuri.


**Summer Rain**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: rightfully and legally, _Maruma_ belongs to Takabayashi-sensei and the poem _June's Rain_ belongs to Sapardi Djoko Damono. Do I own anything? Nay.

Warning: spoiler to the last episode of the anime.

Notes: written for the fanfic contest on LJ community, kkmwolframfans. The prompt used is _distance_.

.-.-.-.

_nothing__ is ever more patient _

_than__ the june's rain_

_keeping__ a secret of its drops of longing_

_for__ that flowering tree_

_nothing__ is ever wiser_

_than__ the june's rain_

_erasing__ its footsteps_

_of__ doubt on that road_

_nothing__ is ever more prudent_

_than__ the june's rain_

_letting__ the unspoken_

_be__ absorbed by that roots of flower_

(_June's Rain_; Sapardi Djoko Damono, translation by me)

.-.-.-.

What began must end, and so must they.

_The last of Shinou's power_, the Great Sage spoke in his ever so composed tone, _and also the last chance_.

And Yuuri had to decide.

Wolfram's fist tightened and loosened on both of his sides, trying to regain control over his emotion. Yuuri looked bewilderedly tormented between his love for the kingdom he had already grown to love and his home where his family was waiting for him. Wolfram hated it. He hated the way Yuuri was still being indecisive he always was even at the time like this, and he hated the way even until now Yuuri could not point a finger at what more precious to him was. _Stupid wimp_, Wolfram scolded silently. A king must be resolute, because in his hands rested so many lives of his people. What a king decided will have an effect on his subjects' lives.

Yet, a king, too, was a human.

Yuuri might be the Maou, the most respected ruler of all land, the most powerful Mazoku ever walked of all land, but he was still... Yuuri. A boy whose family sometimes did not understand him but loved him still anyway. A boy who loved the spirit of a baseball game just like a swordsman would love a noble sparring. A boy who might look silly and too cheerful for his own good but actually had a heart deeper than the ocean.

Wolfram knew that Yuuri had so much to give up.

"Go home," so he said.

Yuuri's eyes widened in denial and, to some extent, hurt.

"Go home," he repeated, this time firmer. "Your family's waiting for you. I wouldn't want my fiancé to be so heartless he could just abandon his family."

When a king had troubles to make his mind up, his aide then had to help him decide, and Wolfram was more than willing to be Yuuri's most dedicated aide.

"But—"

The rest was a blur. Wolfram looked away so that he could bit his lower lip in his stubborn attempt to stand strong and firm. Others were speaking, too, to get it into Yuuri's stubborn skull that Shin Makoku could do just fine without the king because her king's spirit would always stay with her.

_I really love Shin Makoku and her people_, Yuuri murmured, choked in his emotion, voice cracked brokenly.

Really, it was ridiculous. He was the first to hurry Yuuri home, and yet he was also the first—and only—to break in tears. Yuuri did not look back or even throw a glance.

"Goodbye," Wolfram whispered quietly. _Until we meet again_.

It was a false hope, Wolfram knew, because there was nothing, nobody could make a possible way for Yuuri to return to Shin Makoku. Somehow the idea of never seeing Yuuri again hurt, and even if it was false, Wolfram held onto said hope.

_Hoping too much will make you a slave of your own hope_, Gwendal said, in concern of his little brother, but since this was Gwendal of the strict and blunt manner, he was not able to put it in less bolder words.

"Would you prefer that I forget him and in the process lose myself?"

Gwendal shut up at that.

Then it happened. Conrad of the enigmatic smile and blank mask came to him just to announce that the king had returned.

Wolfram honestly did not know whether he should give Yuuri a hug or a hard punch in the jaw.

.-.-.-.

A light rain blessed the land of Shin Makoku the night Yuuri was brought back to the kingdom even though it was still summer. Yuuri always suffered the most when it was raining. The royal field would be slippery in the morning that he could not play on it tomorrow, and not being able to play baseball when he wanted was one of the most things Yuuri hated with passion. Aside from that, Yuuri also had to cancel a sparring session with Conrad and an outside picnic with Greta.

"What a day to return," the king groaned solemnly as he watched the rain tapping lightly on the royal bedroom window.

Beside him, Wolfram said nothing. His mother had always said that Wolfram was sunshine and green grass and Beautiful Wolfram—and of that Yuuri too believed so—ever since he was just a little boy, so he particularly had a personal dislike towards the rain. Wolfram did not like being forced to stay indoor all day long. After all, he was a flame caster, master of the most fierce and feral element of all land, and being stuck was definitely not on his list of wish.

But then again, did not he let himself be trapped? Ruefully, with the things going on between Yuuri and him, he really did that himself. And Yuuri did not have to know how much Wolfram had given up for him—not that Wolfram could bring it into talk either. Wolfram would not call it an unconditional love, no, but he would much rather be silent about his devotion because there was no need to tell anyone when the one he was devoted to was too afraid to admit what _being them_ really meant himself, really.

Yuuri said nothing when Wolfram, still quiet, tilted his head to rest it on Yuuri's pyjama-clad shoulder. A soft sigh escaped the king's lips, perhaps feeling not so sure himself of what to do or how to handle a quiet Wolfram. The thought that Yuuri let him do so brought a thin smile to Wolfram's lips. Just because of a simple, plain closeness, the rain was not a big hitch any longer, becoming less irritating and more tolerable even though Wolfram still somewhat pitied the rain, the lone rain of summer.

Then again, when it came to Yuuri, Wolfram would always be like the summer rain, nothing more and nothing less. Just like that.

And in silence he would wait.


End file.
